The Stones of Nomuru
- Автор: Де Камп Лайон Спрэг
- Серия: Viagens Interplanetarias #7
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The Stones of Nomuru». Краткое содержание книги:
Mild-mannered Terra archeologist Keith Salazar was just minding his business, digging up the alien past on an out-of-the-way site on the planet Kukulcan, when suddenly he was beseiged by intruders on his scholarly peace: hostile natives, an indifferent ex-wife, and a demon developer with rapacious eyes glued on both his site and his true love.
In the course of protecting his dig, regaining his loved one and vanquishing his rival, Salazar will fight a giant reptilian predator bare-handed, leap into snake-filled pits, engineer the planet's first imperial conquest, lead and train a battalion of alien riflemen, and hold a séance. Pretty exciting work--but then maybe Keith Salazar wasn't such a milquetoast after all...
"I noted the direction his Biblical studies were taking and tried to show him the error of his ways. He did not take kindly to criticism."
"Who does?" said the archaeologist. "What does he intend to do with you?"
"He has not decided."
Motion outside the cage interrupted the colloquy. A group of Choshas appeared at the gate and began untying the rope-lashing that held it closed. When the rope was removed, one Kook slipped through the doorway and beckoned Salazar. As the archaeologist reached the gate, two others seized his arms and marched him off.
The group proceeded to the principal tent, before which rose the malodorous pole that Ragnarsen had mentioned. It had a dozen crossarms, whence hung heads, Kookish and Terran, like ornaments on a Christmas tree.
Inside, Salazar found Prophet Kampai squatting on his gold-embroidered cushions. The Terrans' rifles and cartridge belts were now laid out neatly on either side of the chief, along with the Kookish weapons. Salazar said:
"Good morning, Your Reverence. Is all well with you?"
"Good morning, Sarasara. All is well with me; is all well with thy clan?" (It sounded like "... is aw way with thy cran?")
"All is well with my clan. Have you led a tranquil life?" And so through the litany of Kukulcanian greetings. Between the thick Kookish accent, the erratic grammar, and the Biblical phraseology, Salazar had to pay close attention to follow the Prophet's words. At last Kampai said:
"Thou art Terran scientist, yes?"
"Yes."
The prophet picked up one of the hunters' rifles. "Canst thou make guns like this?"
"No sir. I am not an engineer or a machinist. Even if I were, I should need a machine shop and raw material."
"If thou hadst all the machine shops of Neruu, couldst thou make guns there?"
"No, sir."
"Wherefore not? Ye Terrans call yourselves wise; and thou art scientist, wiser than others."
Salazar sighed. "It is true, Your Reverence, that much knowledge has come into the possession of Terrans on their own world. But the amount is so great that a single Terran can learn only a small fraction of it in his lifetime, even though science has greatly lengthened our life spans. My fraction is knowledge of the remains of people of former times: their houses, utensils, and works of art I have never even seen how a gun is made.
"Now I understand that you intend to kill all the Shongorin, along with all the other sedentary peoples of this world. If you kill them all, there will be no one with the knowledge of how to operate their machines."
Kampai grunted. "Something in what thou sayest, Sarasara. Perchance we must needs keep some alive long enough to show my people how to work machines. But machinists of Neruu hate aught new. Make guns as they did long time past, when people fought with swords.
"I desire guns like unto yours, that shoot bam-bam-bam. Terrans in Henderson and other Terran cities have laws, not to permit us these good guns. Sometimes can bribe Terran to give anyway, but need regular supply. Besides, Terran guns not fit us. Need different stocks." After a pause, Kampai continued: "Cannot see how thou canst be useful, Sarasara. I wait for Jesus to command me what to do with thee. Take him back!"
"A moment, Your Reverence! It would be a great favor to us if, in addition to our food and water, you furnished us with a place where we can answer the call of nature in privacy. We are fussy about such things."
"Call of nature? What that?"
Salazar explained, until Kampai said: "Funny ay-yens. Orright, I give order."
When his escort had delivered Salazar back to the cage, the leading Kook pointed to Bergen and beckoned. While he was gone, other Choshas came in and handed each Terran a wooden bowl of porridge and a horn spoon. To Salazar the food was completely tasteless, but he was inured to such things. While Kara and Travers obviously had to force theirs down, Ragnarsen ate his without emotion and Pokrovskii attacked his as if it were a gourmet feast.
"Is proverb," he said. "Hunger is sauce that make tripe better than caviar."
An hour later, Bergen returned. With a self-satisfied smirk, he said: "It's all fixed. They'll free us as soon as Oleg goes back to Suvarov and returns with a ransom."
"How come?" asked Salazar.
"Simple. Kampai has no particular use for us, now that he's got our guns. He asked me if I could make more rifles like ours at Neruu, and I told him no. Naturally, these creatures have no idea of checks or other commercial paper; so it'll have to be bullion from the Henderson branch of the Suvarov Bank. I suppose he'll use it to buy war materials."
"From gun runners, most like," said Salazar. "Then what's to stop them from wiping out the settlements?"
"We've still got the zappers. Would you rather have your head dangling from that pole?"
"But why Oleg?"
"Because he works for me. They wouldn't let me go; I was too big a fish to turn loose. Kara, haven't you got a notebook and a pen?"
"Yes; I happened to—" she began.
"Give 'em here, so I can write out an authorization."
Salazar asked: "Kara, how come the Kooks didn't take your pen when they searched us?"
She shrugged. "It was in a little pocket in the cover of the notebook. Besides, they're not much used to Terran things."
As Bergen finished his letter, another squad of Choshas, leading three saddled jutens, approached the cage. Pokrovskii cried: "Chort! I won't ride those things!"
"You will," growled Bergen, glowering. "It'll cut the time in half, and we'd better fetch that gold before Himself changes his mind and hangs our heads on his tree."
Pokrovskii sighed. "Hokay, if you raise my salary. Be good reducing exercise."
Soon the construction supervisor, clutching fearfully at his saddle, jounced away with his escort.
Days dragged by on wounded legs. The five in the cage found temperatures mild enough; but when a shower blew up, they had no shelter. After the storm passed, they stripped to underwear and hung their soaking khakis on the cage poles to dry. The Kooks gathered, pointing and croaking. Wearing no clothes and indifferent to weather, they appeared to find the human reaction to rain a source of wonder.
The food was adequately nourishing but routinely tasteless. When Bergen cursed its monotony, Salazar said: "Be glad they're not serving their gourmet delicacy, called yoekan."
"What's wrong with it?" grumbled Bergen.
"You'd call it a compote of mashed bugs."
Bergen clapped a hand to his mouth and half rose before he regained control of his stomach.
To pass the time, the five captives talked in turn about their specialties. Bergen elaborated on grandiose plans for hotels and other enterprises. Ragnarsen gave sermons. Kara told of journalistic triumphs. Travers described the plans of his department for improving the lives of the "natives."
Salazar lectured on archaeology. He hoped to arouse in Bergen some spark of interest in the drama of the rise and fell of civilizations. But, while Kara and Ragnarsen followed his words with active interest, and Travers gave at least polite attention, Bergen's fidgeting and wandering gaze betrayed his boredom. He made his ennui so obvious that, after giving a second talk, Salazar took him aside and said:
"I guess these matters don't interest you much, eh, Conrad?"
Bergen shrugged. "To tell the truth, they don't. There's no money in 'em; and anyway, who cares whether some old guy ate with a knife and fork or chopsticks? What's past is dead and gone. I'm more interested in the future."
Bergen glanced toward Kara who, curled up in a corner of the cage, was napping. He stepped in the opposite direction, beckoned Salazar with a finger to follow, and lowered his voice. "Now listen, Keith. I know we've got to stick together here. But I saw how, at the camp, you'd have walked off with Kara and left the rest of us to cash in our checks in the wilderness."